Musical Monday: FREEDOM by BEYONCÉ

 So this song's been all over my feed this past week. We all know why, and I have no plan on debating any of it. So I'mma just leave it there. Except, I do have to say that that orchid is giving very Brandon-from-The-Spirit-of-the-Place. And I'm editing that ATM, so it's topical in more ways than one.

Spirit of the Place is probably the most political story I've ever written, which is amusing, all things considered. Twenty years ago (when it was first released) you could actually have a love story between two people who voted for different political parties. Nowadays? Ha! That would never happen. 

I'm hopeful that we might finally be moving away from that. But, we'll see...

The Spirit of the Place

Oberon Book 6.0

Now Available for pre-order: https://books2read.com/SpiritPlace

 

​'Tis the season to be jolly, but Jasmine Quinn is far from happy about her mother's  latest folly: her upcoming wedding to former Wall Street financier, Sam Sterling.  Jasmine doesn't like her future stepfather, or his values.  Anybody with as much money as Sam, should be spreading it around, aiding worthy causes, making it count for something.  Instead, he seems intent on using his wealth to embarrass her mother by throwing a ridiculously lavish wedding.  But there's one thing about Sam that Jasmine can't help but admire, no matter how much she'd like to--the graduate student he's hired as an intern.

​

Brandon Ablemarle is also finding it hard to get into the holiday spirit.  Especially since his dream job has just become a nightmare, thanks in part to the fiery redhead with some of the goofiest ideas he's ever heard of.  But what else can you expect from the daughter of a self-proclaimed psychic?   Marsha Quinn has a lot to answer for.  Not only has she encouraged her daughter's esoteric craziness, she's also turned one of the most brilliant stock analysts Wall Street had ever seen into a nutcase as well.  One who actually appears to believe that the answers to the stock market can be found in the stars!

 

It's a clash of ideologies when Jasmine and Brandon get together.  Can the spirit of the season, and the spirit of the place help them to see beyond their differences?

 

Excerpt:

 

A small commotion at one of the booths across from the bar caught Brandon’s attention.  Wow.  Talk about your enchantresses, the young woman seated alone in the second booth in from the door made a much better candidate for the title than the woman Brandon had been contemplating.  

The two women couldn’t be more different.  Although their hair color was eerily similar, that, and their gender, were about the only things they seemed to have in common.  

Marsha, for example, would no doubt fit right in here—in fact, it was from her that Brandon had learned of the brewery’s existence.  While the stranger, on the other hand, with her dark skin and long auburn hair, carefully arranged in dozens of tiny braids, appeared as out of her element in the dim, dusty, countrified atmosphere of the tavern as a rare, exotic orchid would be in a field full of dandelions.  

He watched her for several minutes—covertly, because he wasn’t a jackass like the other guys in the bar, most of whom were openly staring—and, man, she was definitely something worth staring at.  She looked as regal as a princess, composed and elegant, yet with all the poised-to-flee hesitancy of a young gazelle, and she aroused a whole range of conflicting instincts within him.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to protect her, admire her beauty from a respectable distance, or chase her down and devour her. 

Not that the eventual outcome posed much of a question.  Base appetites were a lot more compelling than abstract constructs, after all.  He hadn’t even needed the psychology elective he’d taken in his junior year to know that.

As he watched, she was approached by no less than seven different men in about twice as many minutes.  Obviously, he was not the only orchid aficionado in the vicinity.  She smiled at each one, and time and again Brandon felt the same peculiar wrenching in his gut.  It seemed all wrong that she should hook up with any of the men here tonight, and he hated the idea that he might have to actually sit by and watch as it happened.  It was a relief every time she turned one away, and Brandon’s appreciation for the unknown beauty grew stronger.  

Clearly the woman had taste.  

But, despite her lack of encouragement, he doubted the barrage would let up any time soon, she was just too tempting.  Unless someone did something to stop it, he was sure she’d continue to be prey to unwanted advances all night long.

An odd collection of impulses brought him to his feet.  It was part chivalry; his mother had been determined that her son grow up to be a proper southern gentleman, and a true gentleman must always come to the aid of a lady in distress.  

And it was in part an innate belief in his own superiority—as well as in hers.  A lady like this deserved someone a damned sight better than the kind of hick who made it a habit to hang around in dusty old bars.  She deserved him, in fact.  And he was not at all adverse to showing the local losers just how the game was played back home.

But mostly, he was driven by an overriding desire to get close enough to determine the exact color of her almond shaped eyes.  To find out if all those bead-studded braids were real.  To learn her name, her scent, the sound of her voice. 

He asked the bartender for a second beer and a basket of peanuts and then, when they’d been delivered, he headed across the room; like Sir Galahad off to save a princess.